The quiet suburban street was still when you pulled into the driveway, the weight of the past and present pressing heavily on your shoulders. Jack’s laughter from the backseat brought a fleeting warmth to your chest, but it couldn’t soften the knot in your stomach. It had been years since you packed your bags, holding Jack’s small hand as you walked away from a life you had built with Aaron—a life that had once been everything you dreamed of. You had left because of his work, because of the nights you sat waiting for him to come home, only to be met with a voicemail from a man consumed by the monsters he chased.

But you never stopped loving him. That was the cruel part.

Now, as you watched your son unbuckle his seatbelt and bound out of the car, his face lighting up at the sight of his father waiting at the door, something in your chest twisted painfully. Aaron knelt to scoop Jack into his arms, his dark suit slightly wrinkled from the day, his tie loosened, but his presence as commanding as ever. For a moment, you just watched, your throat tight.

Jack had been the only constant between you and Aaron after the divorce. Co-parenting had forced you both to remain in each other’s orbit, orbiting around the boy who was the very best parts of both of you. You had convinced yourself that you were fine with this arrangement—that the love you once shared was just a closed chapter.

Until Jack told you about Beth.

It was innocent enough, just a comment over breakfast: “Dad’s friend Beth took me to the park yesterday.” But the name lodged itself in your mind like a splinter, nagging and raw. It wasn’t the fact that Aaron was seeing someone else—he deserved happiness, God, he deserved more than the lonely, brutal life he led—but knowing that someone else got to see the tender, quieter side of him, the side that used to be yours, stung more than you cared to admit.

Aaron glanced up as you walked toward the house, his gaze briefly softening before his usual stoic composure returned. He still had that way of looking at you that made the world feel smaller, quieter. It reminded you of late nights in high school when you’d sit on the hood of his car, talking about dreams bigger than your small town. He had always been yours then.

Inside the house, you exchanged polite words about schedules and school projects, the usual rhythm of your shared parenting. But every mention of Beth—Jack’s excited recounting of a hike or a dinner—was another pang of something sharp and ugly that you tried to bury.

You caught sight of a framed photo on the hall table. It was new—a candid shot of Aaron and Jack, both smiling wide, with a woman standing beside them. Beth. She was beautiful, the kind of effortless beauty that made your heart ache because it meant Aaron wasn’t alone anymore.

Memories of your past life together came rushing back—the warmth of Aaron’s hand on the small of your back, the way his voice softened when he read Jack bedtime stories, the rare moments when the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders and he was just your husband, your Aaron. Those memories hurt now because they were no longer yours alone.

Still, there was a part of you that wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. But another part, the part you buried deep, whispered that no matter how much time had passed, he would always be yours first.